i read Julia. and, will i ever find more poetry like this? i found it doomscrolling on some infinite series of meaningless writings, stupid machine-generations and thoughtless words. i found it after a gallon of artificial sugar, i found this gourmet. i found it after so much oil, this pure water. where can i reliably find things i will enjoy? where can i reliably find what i like? in the sea of waste, how can i filter to gold? not even gold, how can i find anything other than the sea? of nonsense? of mindless pleasure? how can i find a room of prose and poetry when all these buildings house bumbling animals? where do i go to find poetry? surely not where i just found it, surely not after another million hours on the scroll-wheel, falling down millions of tells of "Beagles are the best dog" and "Me when the teacher asks 'how's the essay going', as we both stare at a blank sheet of paper"? what am i doing wrong to find soul so rarely? and, too, no credit to myself, since i only realize once i've found it how long i've been swimming in nothing. i, too, am stupid until i find someone else's thoughts on knowledge. because i am surrounded by it, and to be surrounded by anything you'll soon be it too. these meaningless posts... what am i doing? where do i go instead?